


KidLock 3:  Sherlock & John

by George_Sand



Series: KidLock [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Kidlock, Sherlock plays pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 17:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10194491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/George_Sand/pseuds/George_Sand
Summary: Sherlock's POV.  Sherlock meets John for the first time.  Sherlock is 6 years old, John is 6(?) years old.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Each KidLock is a one-off. They are not related to each other, and I've manipulated relative ages for my convenience. :)

“Imbecile,” said thirteen year old Mycroft with disgust.

“Sorry,” said six year old Sherlock, and half meant it.

They were at the park, Sherlock with his pirate hat and sword, Mycroft in the sandbox. Thirteen year olds didn’t usually play in sandboxes, but it was one of Mycroft’s favorite pastimes.  He’d bring large, heavy books from home and prop them at the edge of the box.  After shooing the other children away, he’d fill a bucket at the fountain and dump it on the sand.  Then he’d go to work.  Constantly referring to his books, he’d make sand models of important English structures.  Last week the Gherkin, with each window pane delineated (“laughably simple”), the week before that a stunningly intricate Saint Paul’s (with little army men poised as saints on the top) and today Tower Bridge (to be suspended with twine brought from home).  Sherlock had been running by the sandbox in pursuit of Pirate Kidd.  As his wooden sword sliced the air, Sherlock had tripped over Mycroft’s book, sending it flying into the sandbox and onto the bridge.  Mycroft yelled, Sherlock apologized and stood motionless and mute for a few moments, watching Mycroft attempt to wipe the moist sand from his book.  Sherlock received a loathing stare before turning to walk away.  What good was having a big brother at the park if he wouldn’t play catch or push on the swing?  And now Pirate Kidd had gotten away.  Sherlock would have to scour the park to find him again.  And it was hard to find imaginary pirates because they were invisible. 

Sherlock straightened his tri-corner and approached the playground, sword at the ready.  There!  Under the slide!  Sinister movements and wild shouts.  Pirates.  Sherlock tiptoed close, then jumped toward the children.

“Surrender, scallywags!”

The boy and girl stopped fighting over a sweet and looked at Sherlock in alarm.  The boy quickly recovered his wits, yanked the chocolate out of the girl’s hands, and ran toward the trees that bordered the park. 

“He absconds with the treasure!” Sherlock hollered, running after him. 

As soon as the boy was out of the girl’s sight he plunked down in the shade and threw the sweet aside.  Sherlock ran behind, scooping up the chocolate and sitting near the boy. 

“You can have it,” said the boy.  “I didn’t really want it anyway.  I just didn’t want her to have it.”

Sherlock nodded sagely, saying, “Very wise,” familiar with the concept of spiteful denial. Then, unfettered, he asked, “Are you William Kidd?”

“No, I’m John Watson.  Who’s William Kidd?”

“The premiere and most fearsome pirate on the seven seas.  I’ve been tracking him in the park today.  I almost had him ‘till my brother got in the way.”

“You’ve got a brother?  That was my sister,” said John, grimacing and pointing in the general area of the playground.

They nodded and an unspoken bond was immediately forged as each felt sympathy for the other’s plight.

“The treasure,” Sherlock looked pointedly at the chocolate.

John easily fell into the game.

“We gotta bury it,” he said

“And make a map,” Sherlock agreed.

John and Sherlock searched for sticks with which to dig.  It was understood that the sword was too precious a commodity to be used as a humble shovel.  John found a strong pointy stick and immediately started gouging a hole in the dirt at the bottom of a tree.  Sherlock spent several minutes finding twigs of certain shapes and sizes and several more minutes trying to fashion them into a trowel.

“Just help!” said John.

They worked until they had made a sufficient indentation in the earth, then laid the chocolate carefully inside.  They surreptitiously covered the sweet with the displaced dirt and grass, then casually sat down next to it attempting to look unconcerned.

“Remarkable work, me hearty,” Sherlock murmured out the side of his mouth, then translated, “Good job,” in response to John’s quizzical look.

“Mm-kay, a map,” said John. 

Realizing that they had no paper or writing instruments, the boys looked as far and wide as they could without abandoning their post, as if the needed articles would magically present themselves.

“Me thinks a sea shanty might be in order,” said Sherlock, then translated, “We can’t draw anything but we can make up a song that’ll help us remember.”

John immediately accepted the idea as obvious and fitting.  After some composing, arguing, and compromising they came up with a musical map set to the tune of “Baa Baa Black Sheep.”

          Baa baa Pirate, have you any sweets?

          Ahoy, ahoy, by the trees.

          Count from the car park one, two, three,

          Dig at the bottom of that there tree.

          Baa baa Pirate, have you any sweets?

          Ahoy, ahoy, by the trees.

Sherlock had balked at the phrase, “that there tree,” but had acquiesced to its use once John pointed out its very pirate-like sonancy. 

The boys made a solemn vow to keep their secret safe until the next time they were both at the park or until one of them got hungry.  Then Sherlock glanced up and saw Mycroft approaching.

“A foe,” whispered Sherlock, then, “Here comes a bad guy” for John’s benefit.  “My brother Mycroft.”

John looked up and was immediately cowed by the almost-grow-up boy that was rapidly approaching them.

“Come on brother, time to go,” called Mycroft haughtily, and Sherlock looked at John in despair.

“I hope to meet you again, me hearty, outside of Davey Jones’ locker,” then “See ya soon.  Hopefully before we die.”

John replied, seriously, “Bye.”

The next time John was at the park, Sherlock wasn’t there and neither was the chocolate.  John vowed to put William Kidd in the pillory as soon as he was found.


End file.
